


Brighton Pier

by sempervirens



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Clueless Harry, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Gen, M/M, Raising (teenage) Harry, Sex Education, The Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempervirens/pseuds/sempervirens
Summary: In which the Weasley boys are desperate, Harry is as well-meaning as he is clueless, and Sirius is just trying to be a responsible godfather who talks to his godson about sex, relationships, and The Whole Gay Thing.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	Brighton Pier

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! First shared fic! It technically falls partway through a sequence of canon-divergent short stories that will make up a series... one day. But hopefully this works well enough as a canon-adjacent stand-alone.

“So, I’ve been thinking, now that you and Cho are a thing, I really ought to stop putting it off and have that chat about relationships and sex and such,” said Sirius.

Harry gazed intently at the copy of _New Theory of Numerology_ in front of him, working over-neat creases into the pinecone-patterned wrapping paper with his thumbnail. Here it was. The Talk. Sirius being… Sirius, he had clung to the hope that his godfather would simply forget that this was something that normal, responsible parents did, and would thus unwittingly spare Harry this universally awkward right of passage. He sighed. Luck, clearly, was not on his side.

“Don’t worry, I know how sex works and I know you’re supposed to save it for marriage, or at least a very committed relationship with a girl you love very much,” Harry recited listlessly. Going by what various friends had said, this ought to cover the main themes and speed up -if not eliminate- The Talk. At least Sirius had the tact to bring it up casually as they were wrapping Christmas presents in the Grimmauld Place library. He’d heard that Mr. Weasley had sat each of his boys down for a Very Special Conversation just before each of them started Hogwarts.

Sirius’s bark-like laugh broke into his train of thought. “I know you’re not an idiot, Harry. I’m sure you’ve figured out the mechanics from porn by now.” -Harry felt his face flush with a new level of embarrassment- “I mean that we should talk about _navigating_ relationships. You know, consent, contraception, how not to make a complete arse of yourself…”

“Ah. Right. That’s a bit- uh- better.” Harry carefully folded down the other tail-end of the wrapping before securing it with a bit of tape. Feeling that something was still lacking, he grabbed the roll of holly-patterned ribbon and began looping it around the book. Depending on how long this conversation continued, he was likely to produce the most beautifully wrapped gifts of his life. It certainly beat making eye contact. 

“I suppose we can start with the whole ‘saving it for marriage’ idea that you mentioned, which is a load of straight bullshit,” Sirius said conversationally as he reached up to the desk for his cooling mug of hot apple cider. Harry released an accidental snort of amusement.

“Sirius, I don’t know where you learned about having ‘The Talk,’ but I’m- uh- pretty sure that’s not what you’re supposed to say,” Harry muttered conspiratorially. If he was to be entirely honest with himself, it was a bit of a relief to see Sirius go off-script so quickly. As much as he appreciated Sirius’s occasional efforts to act like a proper parent, the role didn’t quite suit him.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Why, what am I supposed to say?”

“Oh, you know, the whole ‘sex is a very special and intimate activity for two people who love each other very much, which is why it’s best to save it for marriage and making babies’ spiel.”

“Do _you_ think that?”

“Not really? I mean, I know that’s not how it usually works in real life. I hear most of the upper years are shagging left and right, like. Or at least that’s what they want people to think. But it’s not a thing you’re supposed to… acknowledge. As an adult, you know?”

“Why not? What’s the point of a conversation if we’re both lying?” Harry opened his mouth to respond before realizing he wasn’t yet sure what to say. What _was_ the point of doing that? His puzzlement must have shown on his face, because Sirius followed up with, “So tell me what you think. For real. What’s a suitable context for sex-related activities? What makes it OK? Or not OK?”

And so, Harry told him. He told him about the chasm between what people were “supposed to” do and what they actually did. He told him about the gap between what he _ought to_ want and what he _actually_ wanted. About how blokes were expected to desperately want sex under any circumstance and want to save it for true love and marriage _at the same time_ , and the no-win situation this all left him in.

“…but what even counts as consent in the wizarding world? People use enchantments and love potions all the time, by the sound of it. Hell, I remember Mrs. Weasley talking once about how she used a love potion on some bloke back in school. But that all seems a bit… off. It reminds me of how fake-Moody had us all do stupid stuff under the Imperius Curse last year to practice fighting it off; I can’t imagine being forced to shag or even snog some girl under those sorts of circumstances…”

“Hmm, yeah, agreed. Love potions are a ‘hell no,’ in my book. The stronger ones basically work like Muggle date-rape drugs. The fact that they’re all legal tells you a little something about how fucked-up wizarding law can be—"

They finished the gift wrapping, having transformed their respective piles of miscellaneous stuff into a beautiful be-ribboned stack of pinecones and silver snowflakes and majestic golden deer. They drained their mugs of cider. The fire in the grate started to die down.

“…there are a few magical forms of birth control, but most of them are unreliable because they depend on a person’s skill at charms or brewing potions. And even if a person is normally competent at these forms of contraception, that can all go out the window if they’re tired or drunk. Which, incidentally, is how you happened, I’m 99% sure. _Anyway_ , I recommend Muggle condoms with a store-bought potion for back-up…”

It was near midnight by the time Harry and Sirius went upstairs and bid each other good night. _That went shockingly well_ , thought Harry as he brushed his teeth and crawled into bed. Never had it occurred to him that a conversation about sex and physical relationships with someone older than him could actually be minimally awkward and informative. Maybe it was because Sirius never quite managed to play the part of a parent, or maybe it was the fact that he clearly wasn’t some strait-laced prude. Or maybe it was just his script-free honesty.

Now that he considered it, though, Harry couldn’t help but wonder: how did Sirius know all this stuff? People could learn about sex simply through talking and reading, of course; Harry’s own state of awareness as of now was proof of that. But was Sirius so knowledgeable and confident based on theory alone?

If he were thinking about this a year ago, Harry would have assumed that his godfather had gotten around a bit before getting locked up in Azkaban. He was certainly good-looking enough to have no trouble with the girls. But over the summer Sirius had revealed to Harry that he was completely, unambiguously gay. Harry had admittedly been a bit surprised by this revelation. Not bothered, by any means, as any group of people that Uncle Vernon so categorically despised had to have something going in their favor. Just surprised. As far as he could tell, Sirius had little in common with the fussy and feminine fellows that usually got called “poofs” and “pansies” behind their backs –like Lockhart, Percy, and their ilk. And even Percy had managed to get a girlfriend. Still, Harry knew that being gay wasn’t just a matter of being a bit girly in one’s interests and habits –not fancying girls as a whole was what it really came down to. And Sirius, he supposed, fell into this latter category. But if Sirius didn’t like women in that way, how was he so familiar with sex? Had he experimented with girls, back in the day, before coming to the conclusion that he was gay? That would make a sort of sense. Given that he didn’t easily fit the additional criteria for being gay, Harry supposed that it would have taken some… “testing” of the theory to be sure.

The bedside clock glowed 1:04 as Harry continued to lay on his back, staring at his bedroom ceiling with a slightly furrowed brow. Sirius and Remus’s room sat directly above. …He was glad that his godfather had Remus Lupin, he really was. Last summer Sirius had revealed not only that he himself was gay, but that Remus was too, and that the two of them were “together,” as he put it. If Sirius was gay, Harry was glad that he wasn’t gay alone. Being single forever as one’s peers eventually all got married and had kids seemed like a rather lonely existence. But that sort of life looked much less lonely when one’s best friend was in the same boat. More than a year’s worth of school breaks spent with the pair had shown Harry that gay best friends were like regular best friends, only… more. More affectionate, more committed, more close. Harry supposed that theirs was like a school-age friendship that had intensified with time and the thrill of reunion, instead of getting pulled apart by commitments to their own wives and separate lives. They even kept up the teenage fun of being dormmates by opting to share a room even after Grimmauld Place emptied out.

It was on these reassuring thoughts that Harry drifted off to sleep.

\-------------

Harry was stretched out on the drawing room sofa, reading a copy of the Quibbler that somebody had left behind when a small but solid _thunk_ issued from the French balcony. He peered over the back of the sofa to see a familiar little grey ball with eyes hovering outside. He opened a glass door and pulled off the note from Ron before allowing Pig to settle on his shoulder, where he bounced cheerfully.

_Hey Harry,_

_Dire news, mate. Mum found the stash of dirty magazines in Fred & George’s room the other day. Gave the three of us quite an ear-full about “objectifying witches” and “setting unrealistic standards” and all that bollocks. Worst part is, she confiscated the lot and burned it all in the kitchen fire. And she promised to do the same with any more such “filth” that she finds over the holidays. Knowing Mum, she’ll follow through with success. So our chances of replacing them before we head back to school aren’t looking too good on our end here. _

_Which is where you come in, Harry, o bestest of friends, who’s staying with his brilliant not-so-old godfather instead of with Mum… I think you can see where I’m headed here. Can you please please please sneak into Sirius’s room to “borrow” some “reading material” and bring it with you to Hogwarts at the end of break? Pilfering somebody else’s porn stash is a bit weird, I’ll admit, but I wouldn’t be asking if the situation wasn’t desperate. This was Fred and George’s whole collection, and you remember how our own magazines mysteriously went missing a few weeks back (I still think Hermione had something to do with that)… which means all four of us will be having a sad, sad term if you don’t fix this. Good luck!_

_–Ron_

Harry folded the letter back up and stuffed in deep in his front pocket with a sigh. Possible months without porn was a chilling prospect indeed; everybody needed some fuel for the imagination. Ron’s idea for a solution, however, was less than ideal. To start with, there was the whole searching-through-Sirius’-private-stuff-to-steal-smutty-magazines thing. Even if it were to work as Ron imagined, it would be a lot weirder for Harry than it would be for Ron. Sirius was _his_ godfather, after all. While talking about this sort of stuff had gone pretty well, taking the magazines that he wanked to fell on a whole other level. Harry rather doubted that Ron or the twins would want to do the same with Mr. Weasley.

But that, of course, was the least of the plan’s problems. The biggest problem was that he’d never told Ron that Sirius was gay. Unlike the unsuspecting Ron, Harry highly doubted that he would find any “reading material” in Sirius’ room featuring voluptuous witches eager to show how well they can “ride a man’s broomstick.” In fact, he wasn’t sure if Sirius even… No, surely he must. Every bloke had some basic physical needs. But what did he think about when he…? Maybe he didn’t picture anything? Or maybe not fancying women in _reality_ didn’t stop him from _imagining_ …

Well, Harry could at least try. Even if he didn’t find anything, he could then at least honestly tell Ron that he’d given it a go, and then they could move on to Plan B (once they thought of a Plan B). Fred and George were of age, so maybe there was some shop in Hogsmeade…

Several hours later, Harry found himself hurriedly creeping into Sirius and Remus’s bedroom under the invisibility cloak while the pair were having tea and scones with Hestia Jones down in the kitchen. _Thank God for Order members and their fondness for dropping by_ , thought Harry as he made a beeline for the nightstand nearest the door. He pulled open a drawer. Spare quills… several knuts… nail clippers… a Muggle paperback (a genuine novel – he checked). As expected, no luck. He moved on to the other nightstand. The top drawer contained miscellaneous detritus of much the same sort. He pulled open the bottom drawer.

His eyes scanned over a small bottle of clear fluid, a couple of metal rings maybe an inch and a half wide, a set of black leather handcuffs, and a small cone-shaped item that was a vivid shade of violet. And underneath all these things… a magazine. Trying very hard to not contemplate the uses of these various other objects, Harry extracted the magazine. The cover image was of a dimly lit Turkish-style bath with ribbons of steam gently curling up from the water. The name “Brighton Pier” was inscribed in large gold lettering across the top. A slanting column of text along the side read, “ _A Dirty Detention_ , _The Handsy Healer_ , _The Vicar’s Vice_ and a dozen more hot & heavy scenes for every kink!”

Harry stood there blinking for several seconds, astonished at his successful find. Apparently Sirius took an interest in smutty magazines after all. He glanced back into the draw to see a couple of more issues of the same publication. He briefly considered taking the lot. But no, surely Sirius would notice if they were all gone. If only one was missing, on the other hand, he might be more likely to assume that he had simply misplaced it, or that Remus had borrowed it and then left it somewhere else. With that decided, Harry shut the drawer, shoved the rolled-up magazine into his back pocket, and snuck down to his own room to stash the magazine at the bottom of his small duffle bag before he went down for dinner.

\-----------

Sirius was fairly sure that Remus was already asleep or close to it when he shed his jeans, T-shirt, and dark blue jumper before crawling under the covers in just his boxer-briefs. As soon as he was settled, however, Remus rolled over. He slid his arm around Sirius’s bare waist and nuzzled close, warm breath tickling Sirius’s ribs.

“I was wondering when you’d finally get to bed. Nearly fell asleep waiting,” Remus mumbled, his voice rough with drowsiness.

“Got distracted planning Christmas dinner for when the Weasleys come to visit. I know turkey’s traditional, but I think I’ll make a couple of geese – there’s no way to cook a turkey in a way doesn’t leave it tasting like wood shavings, as far as I know,” he replied as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through Remus’s hair.

“Your intermittent bouts of domesticity never cease to amaze me.”

“I’ll never again take food that tastes like something for granted.” Sirius sensed a barely perceptible tension in his boyfriend’s body in the pause that lasted a second too long.

“Read me a bedtime story,” Remus suddenly requested.

“If you like,” Sirius said with a quirk of the lips. He reached into the top drawer of his nightstand and started reading the book where it had been left marked. “It was very early on Saturday morning, on the last day of the world, and the sky was redder than blood. The International Express delivery man rounded the corner…”

“As much as I enjoy Terry Pratchett, that wasn’t _quite_ what I had in mind.”

Sirius chuckled as he returned _Good Omens_ to his nightstand. “Give it here, you hopeless horn ball.”

Remus snorted. “You’re one to talk.” He rolled back over to rummage through their Sex Drawer. The rummaging continued. “Did you move that new issue of Brighton Pier?”

“No?”

“Hmm, well, it’s definitely not in here.”

“If that fucking elf—”

“I’m pretty sure Kreacher is far more interested in squirreling away Black heirlooms than gay porn, Pads. These are not his preferred family jewels…”

“Then where–? Oh no.” Sirius threw his head back with a _thwak_ against the headboard as it dawned on him. The only remaining possibility.

“What?”

“ _Harry_.”

“…ah,” Remus sounded as he settled back against his pillows. “But do you really think he would –?”

“He’s a teenager in Hogwarts. Remember what we were like? The word “boundaries” probably hasn’t entered his vocabulary yet.” Remus’s eyebrows rose up as he bobbed his head a couple of times, mulling over this hypothesis.

“Point taken. But gay porn? You spoke to him about these things the other day. Did he give any indication—”

“That he’s keen on helping a guy reinterpret the title of Head Boy during a late-night detention?” asked Sirius, eliciting a brief laugh from his partner. “No, not really. Maybe he’s curious?”

“Bi-curious? Could be. To be honest I have always gotten a vaguely queer vibe off him. Not quite flaming, mind you, but I wouldn’t be too surprised…”

“Question is, now what? I mean, we could always just… leave him to it.”

“We could, but— how much of his education does he get from these magazines?” Images from the final short story in the relevant edition of Brighton Pier flashed across Sirius’s mind. Namely the one in which a cute young twink arrives at the Turkish baths for some cleansing and relaxation and ends up getting spit roasted by half a dozen jacked men in a row. Bareback.

“I’ll talk to him.”

\-----------------

Making use of Grimmauld Place’s entire 12-seat kitchen table was no easy feat for two, but they managed it the on day before Christmas Eve. Flour, brown sugar, eggs, molasses, and an array of spices and mixing bowls occupied one end of the table. Sticky toffee pudding and chocolate peppermint biscotti occupied the other. In the middle stood Sirius and Harry, with Harry wielding the biscuit cutters and Sirius the rolling pin. The dulcet tones of folk metal drifted from the Muggle stereo on the sideboard (mixtape courtesy of Bill Weasley).

“Wasn’t there a hippocampus in this set when we got it?” pondered Harry as he stamped out another gingerbread unicorn. Sirius scanned the assembled biscuit cutters: unicorn, dragon, giant squid, kneazle.

“You know, I think you’re right,” said Sirius. He checked under the nearest kitchen towel and glanced under the table before giving up with a shrug.

“But speaking of things going missing…” he began, feeling his chest tighten slightly with an unexpected bout of nerves. Not scaring Harry off completely was bound to be a tad more challenging this time. He needed to tread carefully. “Something disappeared from my bedside table the other day.”

If there was any doubt in Sirius’s mind about what had happened to the magazine, it evaporated with Harry’s reaction. His godson slowly looked up from the straggling bits of gingerbread dough before him to stare ahead unseeingly. His wide, horror-filled eyes suggested that an army of dementors was coming through the brick wall and his soul had just preemptively left his body. Sirius had to suppress a laugh.

“I’m not angry; you can keep it for all I care. I just wanted to… check in. Make sure you’re not using it as an instruction manual, mechanics-wise. That sort of thing. They tend to gloss over certain important steps…”

“Oh God. Oh no no no. I, uh— you see— It’s not like—” Harry’s blush was so intense that Sirius could actually see a slight red tint to his copper skin. Poor kid. Sirius really was mucking this up.

“Look, this is me you’re talking to here. I’m _definitely_ not judging. Regardless of whether you took it for yourself, or a friend, or just out of curiosity,” said Sirius. Probably best to give Harry a few ready-made excuses, if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself and/or others just yet.

Harry stared at the wall in silence. Rather than unseeing, he now looked as if he needed to memorize the patterns of weathering the on brick to redraw it from memory. Sirius sprinkled a handful of flour onto the table and rubbed it on the rolling pin. He grabbed a lump of fresh dough from the large metal mixing bowl, mashed Harry’s leftover bits of dough into it, and started rolling. Something told him that this was a good time to let Harry gather his thoughts. The band on the radio continued to scream in Finnish.

“I would like to begin by pointing out that I am a complete moron, so please assess everything I’m about to tell you using the appropriate standards.”

This time Sirius couldn’t hold back his laugh. “Fair enough, go on.”

“Well, you see, Ron sent me this owl the other day,” Harry began stumbling through an explanation. “The twins have a collection of- uh- dirty magazines that everyone sort of… borrows from. But Mrs. Weasley found it and threw a fit and got rid of them all. And their chances of getting replacements aren’t too good right now. So Ron sort of… persuaded me to nick yours. He doesn’t know, you see, about you. And it _really_ didn’t seem like the time to tell him. Context, and all that.”

“Makes sense, I suppose. But what about when— Unless you all…”

“Ah. Well. This is where the part about me being an idiot comes in,” Harry said sheepishly and he gently placed a dragon on the baking sheet. “To be totally honest, I didn’t expect to find anything when I went looking. ‘Cause it turns out I- erm- didn’t quite have the right idea about- uh- the whole gay thing. As in, what it… kind of- means?”

It was Sirius’s turn to stare into the middle distance in confusion. He certainly _thought_ he had made it perfectly clear when he’d told Harry about being gay and in a relationship with Remus. And Harry seemed to take it very well, as he recalled. “What- What did you think it meant?”

“Well, going by the sort of blokes who get _called_ gay by other people I thought it meant, you know, not fancying girls and being a bit… feminine yourself. And sometimes hero-worshipping the cool, popular blokes.”

“That’s not… entirely inaccurate,” Sirius reassured. “A little heavy on the stereotypes, I’ll grant, but not flat-out wrong.”

“But the part that I- uh- didn’t realize was that slightly major bit with- uh- likingmeninthatkindaway.”

Sirius had to pause in his dough rolling to process what Harry had just said. “You… didn’t know that gay men are attracted to other men?”

“Yeeeeees?” Going by the extremely sheepish expression on Harry’s face and entire body, it seemed safe to say that he was not joking. Sirius released a slow breath. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected, but this was certainly not it. Then it hit him.

Harry had learned that being gay involved the crucial component of same-gender attraction by accidentally viewing hardcore porn. His _godparents_ ’ hardcore gay porn. Sirius buried his face in his hands, no longer mindful about putting his elbows in the flour. “Well, er, you certainly know now,” he said with a slightly horrified chuckle.

“I told you I was a moron,” Harry said timidly.

“You’re not a moron. Well, not a complete one, anyway,” he couldn’t resist joking. “I’m just amazed at how the general cultural education has failed you. This was a problem when I was growing up too, mind you, but I’d just heard that things have improved a bit in that respect. But not by that much, apparently. So… do you have… questions?”

For a moment Harry gazed pensively at the table’s wooden surface. “The- er- _activities_ in that magazine. Do …people… actually do those things? With each other? In real life?”

Sirius chuckled. “They certainly do. Well, not all of the _scenarios_ , of course. That’s much the same as with straight porn. But the activities, yes.”

“Huh. And the whole gay thing. Is it just, you know, attraction and such? Or is it squishy feelings too?”

“For most people, yeah, it’s both.”

“So, you two…?”

“Are disgustingly in love, as much as we try to play it cool in front of other people,” Sirius confirmed. He couldn’t help the besotted little smile that crept its way onto his face. “Have been since we were twenty, the whole thinking-I’m-a-mass-murderer-for-twelve-years on Remus’s part aside. Not that I blame him for it!” he hastily added.

“That is…” Harry paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “Fucking fantastic! Here I was thinking that you both were stuck being forever relationship-less with only a best friend for company. Good on you! For- uh- well- yeah.”

Sirius laughed. If there was ever a poster boy for clueless enthusiasm, their godson was it.

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have noticed, both Sirius and Harry are still a bit clueless when it comes to asexuality, queer platonic relationships, and the existence thereof. Baby steps.


End file.
